Dame Blanche
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Hermione never expected their re-do 7th year to start with a devilish Harry & an angelic Draco, nor that only she would see those sides. Her involvement with them is nearly enough to deter her reluctant fascination with an artifact found in Gryffindor tower & her curiosity about a frightening entity roaming the dark corridors. MATURE CONTENT (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])
1. Reasons & Complications

**General Author's Note****: I'm aware that based on my Fic list, some readers have come away with the impression that I'm a Hermione-with-**_**ANYONE**_**-but-Ron shipper. Such is not the case. I **_**don't**_** ship her with Ron, this is true, but I'm a hardcore Dramione-shipper (and a minor Harmoine shipper), but I will pair her with another if there's a story present to tell. I follow what the muses give me, plain & simple. For answers to any questions regarding my personal ships, visit my FF profile page.**

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**My regular readers:**** Yes, I know I have two more plunnies still waiting in the box, I'm sorry. They _are_ still forthcoming. This one bit me yesterday & hasn't left me a moment's peace. In fact, it woke me up with an opening paragraph this morning.**

* * *

**My other** _**HP**_ **Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**One-Shot,** Lemon])

_Distractions _([PwP] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [_only_ on AFF. Net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _([PwP] Draco-Hermione-Blaise [_only _on AFF. Net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers_ ([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me _(Dramione/Scormione [18 yr old. Scorpius])

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

* * *

**DISCLAIMER****:**_** Harry Potter **_**(c) JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.**

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**Chapter One**

Reasons & Complications

All Harry really knew was that this second chance at their seventh year felt different. Wrong, somehow. More than just Ron's choice not to return; more than Ginny dumping him because of some ridiculous notion about what she called_ the truth _of their relationship.

Perhaps, he thought, as he sat on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he stared into the roaring fire in the hearth, it had nothing to do with either of those factors. Harry knew there'd been a change in him after the war.

Everyone had welcomed him back with cheers and smiling applause, yet . . . while they were downstairs at the feast, he sat up here in the silent, empty tower, grateful for the peace. Honestly, he hadn't realized he'd changed until he felt the blinding urge to tell all those cheering voices and clapping hands to bloody well shut up.

Hermione had met with the same mind numbing fanfare. Harry simply watched as she took in the barely organized chaos with a shy smile, nodding and murmuring _thank yous_ she didn't seem to mean.

Honestly, what were they supposed to have done? _Let_ Voldemort win? They'd done what was necessary, why make such fuss over it?

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't hear the footfalls of someone approaching him.

"If looks could kill," Hermione said, her voice light. "Honestly, what'd that poor fireplace ever do to you?"

He graced her with a chuckle as she picked up a poker and prodded the kindling. Harry knew she wasn't thrilled being back, either; not after Ron's declaration that he and Hermione didn't fit right as a couple, nor all the welcoming glances she'd received from quite a few of their male classmates. News that she and Ron were over spread quickly, and those who'd—at least in Harry's estimation—previously been intimidated by her intellect, or considered her unapproachable after having dated a world famous Quidditch player, suddenly saw her as attainable.

Or, they'd all finally realized that under that bushy brown hair, she_ was_ rather attractive. He honestly wasn't certain which, but then, if the last few years had proved anything, it was that Harry never quite got the knack of reading people.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

He'd not realized that he'd again been lost in thought. "I think," he said, one corner of his mouth pulling up in what was almost a sneer, "I'm just bored."

The end of the poker caught on something and Hermione frowned, only casting a quick glance over her shoulder at him before returning her attention to whatever stubborn bit the thing had latched onto. "Bored," she echoed, distracted. "How can you be bored being back at Hogwarts? This is your home, you love it here!"

"Yes, the place, not so sure about the rest of it." Sure, he'd plastered on a grin, laughed at all the right points when people were talking to him, but only because he knew they expected that of him.

But he didn't feel like living up to expectations anymore. He only followed along because to show them he didn't care about any of that would only make the simple process of returning to school complicated.

He wanted_ life_. Something to quicken his pulse and remind him that he'd survived hell, but that didn't actually involve anything quite so grueling as the adventures through which they'd been; not the minor, inconvenient irritation of everyone treating him as though they didn't know him.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Yes, you are. I don't care about any of this anymore. I'm not even sure why I came back. Nothing here is going to hold my interest anymore, Hermione. I'm sorry, maybe . . . maybe my coming back was a mistake."

Sighing heavily, she sat on her knees beside him, the stupid, stuck poker still clutched in her hand. "Don't say that, Harry. Look, it's just weird being back and everyone acting normal after everything, that's all. C'mon, I'm sure you'll find something to 'hold your interest'! Just . . . I dunno, be patient."

"Patience, right," he chuckled darkly, rolling his eyes.

That was when it happened.

Hermione rose up on her knees and hunched over, peering into the fireplace to see what was causing her such trouble. He didn't know if it was because she was focused on the sodding poker, or because she had somehow forgotten that her best friend was, in fact, male. Whatever the reason, she didn't seem to notice that her shift in position caused the skirt of her uniform to shift, as well. The hem rode _just_ high enough on the backs of her thighs that he imagined if she lowered her shoulders toward the floor only a _little_ more, he'd catch a glimpse of her knickers.

The thought made his pulse thud sharply and his breath caught in his throat. Harry forced a gulp as he realized . . . he was attracted to Hermione. His eyes drifted closed and he sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

* * *

_"You don't really want to be with _me_ Harry. There's someone else, there always has been. And . . . now that my brother's not in your way anymore, well . . . . I don't need to actually say it, do I? I know what happens next."_

_"You think I want to be with Hermione?" His eyebrows shot up as he held Ginny's gaze, disbelief puckering his lips. "That's totally mad, she's like a sister to me."_

_She smiled, sad and gentle, before leaning close to kiss his cheek. "No. That's just what you told yourself so you wouldn't disrupt the balance you three had. I think you started telling yourself that the moment you realized he liked her. It's okay, Harry. I mean, no, it's not _really_; it hurts, but I understand. Don't have to be the brightest witch of our age to see it."_

_Like that, in a whirl of dark cloak and ginger locks, she turned and walked away from him._

* * *

He'd thought it mad, and put her words out of his mind, only grateful that Ginny explained away their breakup to everyone as things simply not working out.

But now he was forced to wonder . . . was she right?

Then Hermione groaned, her shoulders bunching as she dipped to one side, peering into the fireplace as near as she could without setting her hair ablaze. And as he watched the movement, his pulse thudded again, fast and sharp.

Harry blinked, green eyes widening behind his glasses. The idea of Hermione—his best friend—bent over in front of him quickened his pulse. _She_ was what he needed.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, pushing away a sudden flash though his mind of simply pulling her into his lap. Though . . . he probably could, after all—he glanced about the empty room—they were alone. What was stopping him?

"What the bloody hell is causing you so much trouble?"

"I think it's just caught on a loose bit of the brickwork," she said, utterly oblivious to the issue her struggle was causing him.

That the mental image of pulling her into his lap led to a dozen other, _far_ more sordid, mental images didn't help his predicament. And yet, again, he found that he couldn't think of any legitimate reason not to—expect perhaps that no one expected him to behave so brashly.

And he wasn't certain that single excuse, alone, was enough.

"A little help here, Harry?"

"Oh, for pity's sake," he said with a laugh, crawling over to settle beside her. As he wrapped his fingers over hers on the poker, he wondered if he'd have done what he was thinking, had she not broken through his reverie just now.

He tugged, and found the metal rod well and truly stuck. "How'd you manage this?"

She giggled, shrugging, her shoulder moving against his. "Oh, just shut up and help me pull."

"Oh, alright. Don't see why you don't just use your wand on it," he said as he shifted position, pressing his chest against her back to get a better grip on the poker.

"Sure, 'cause there's a spell that can dislodge it and _not_ cave in the flue?"

He was quite careful to keep the rest of his body separate from hers as he could manage while kneeling behind her. "Well, of course, when you put it that way . . . . Ready?"

She nodded.

"One, two, three."

They pulled, and the poker came free, but as they fell backward, it struck the inside of the flue, knocking something loose. Soot and rubble fell onto the fire, smothering it and sending up a gritty plume of smoke.

Hermione coughed, waving her hand in front of her face as she dropped the poker. Harry chuckled, and she realized from the rumbling beneath her back, and the feel of his breath against her ear, that she on top of him.

"It's not funny, Harry," she said, despite that she couldn't help a laugh. "Only our first night back, and already we're causing destruction."

She sat up, but as she moved to slide off him, his fingers clamped over her hips, holding her in place. "Harry," she giggled again, looking over her shoulder at him, "What're you doing?"

He shrugged meeting her gaze, remaining against the floor for the moment. "Dunno, just thought maybe you could . . . stay right where you are."

The way he looked at her caused Hermione's face to flood with warmth. Harry had never looked at her like_ that_, it wasn't that she didn't know what it meant, but that she'd never expected to see it from _him_.

She faced forward, focusing on her breath, trying to ignore the warmth of his body beneath her.

He sat up, lifting a hand from her hips to brush her hair away from her neck. When she trembled, but didn't push him away, he took her lack of resistance as an invitation and pressed his lips to the side of her throat, tasting her skin.

"Harry?" she asked in a whisper, her voice shaking. "What are you doing?"

Chuckling once more, he lifted his mouth to speak against her ear. "Oh, c'mon, Hermione, don't tell me you've never thought about it."

She drooped in his loose embrace, feeling the press of his chest against her back each time he inhaled. How could he ask her this so frivolously?

Hermione lifted her face to meet Harry's gaze as he settled his chin on her shoulder. He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips.

Forcing a gulp, she finally found her voice. "Well, yes, of course, I've . . . I've wondered, but—"

"Then? 'S just the two of us here, Hermione."

Was he leaning closer? The tip of his nose brushed hers, he was _definitely_ leaning closer. "What would people think? It would be so . . . complicated after everything we've always said."

"Complicated?" Harry smirked. Bloody hell, he'd never realized she could be this adorable—those huge brown eyes, and her bottom lip pushed into a pout. "I'm not talking about anything more serious than snogging, Hermione."

"Snogging?" she echoed, her cheeks flaring once more. "You and me?"

A brow arched behind the wireframes of his glasses. "Unless you thought I was talking about something else?"

Before Hermione realized it, she tilted her head, her eyes drifting closed as she felt the brush of Harry's mouth over hers.

The sound of the painting entrance creaking open startled her, and she jumped out of Harry's lap.

Propping an elbow against his thigh, he dropped his chin into his palm and merely looked at her, laughing quietly.

"Harry, there you are!" Seamus' voice cut through the formerly silent space. The Irish boy came straight to them, plunking himself down between Harry and Hermione before he noticed the mess in the fireplace. "What were you two doing up here?"

"Well, we knew you were coming up and we thought there'd be less chance of burning down the castle this way," Harry said, recovering quickly, smiling jovially—though he imagined Hermione was blushing anew from Seamus' choice of words.

Seamus laughed. "Funny . . . hey, what's that?" He grabbed up the poker and began digging into the pile of rubble and ash.

Hermione watched Seamus, trying not to mind how Harry's mood had swung around so smoothly. Right now, he looked like the same old Harry, but . . . just a few moments ago . . . .

"Is that a jewelry box?" She asked, mystified by the small, silver case Seamus pulled free.

"Looks like it, but old." He shook it near his ear. "Hey, there's something inside!"

Hermione snatched it from his hands before he could fiddle with the lock. "Honestly, Seamus, what are you, a first year? This was up in the flue, so presumably someone hid it up there. That means whatever's inside could be dangerous." Without waiting for objections, she shot to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

Hermione met his gaze, his usual, innocent, Harry Potter gaze. He didn't arch an eyebrow suggestively, nor smirk, he merely furrowed his brow in question.

"Where do you think? I'm taking this to Professor McGonagall before it gets any of us in trouble. Haven't we learned _anything_?"

"I'll go with you."

"No," she said a bit too quickly as Harry started to climb to his feet.

Both Seamus and Harry looked at her in surprise.

Hermione met each of their gazes in turn before finding her voice. "I just . . . I need a moment to myself. I have things to think about, I could use the quiet."

Seamus made a committal expression and turned his attention back to scooping the sooty mix out of the fireplace.

Harry held her gaze for a few heartbeats longer than necessary. "Sure, because over-thinking has served us so well in the past."

She refused to puzzle over his words until she was outside the tower. As she hurried down the staircase, before it could change on her, she pondered what had just happened.

Harry—of all people, Harry—wanted to kiss her, but not have complication. That had to mean he _only _wanted to a bit of snogging, right?

Hermione rolled her eyes at how naïve that thought sounded. Okay, so perhaps not only that, _but _nothing with any sort of attachment, maybe? Oh, that was madness, she fretted as she rounded a bend in the staircase.

They were friends, _best_ friends. There was no way something like that could work. Situations like that _always_ became complicated, didn't they?

She forced a sigh. She _was_ overthinking it. Trust Harry to predict how she'd handle the situation. Frowning, she turned her attention to the box in her hand.

Small, and heavy, with beautiful, ornate scrollwork lacing the sides, she imagined it couldn't hold much more than rings and earrings, maybe. Whatever it was, she'd let the faculty sort it out.

That look Harry had given her flashed through her head and a responding warmth washed over her skin. Such an odd thing—she wasn't certain if that look made her nervous because it frightened her . . . or because she wanted to see it again.

As she stepped from the staircase, she didn't realize how fast she was moving.

Nor how fast the person hurrying down the corridor was moving. They collided, and Hermione was knocked backward, landing hard on her bum. The impact launched the box from her hand to hit a wall and slip down.

Gritting her teeth, she uttered a strangled, _"Ow," _as she shifted awkwardly to slip her hands beneath her bottom.

"Merlin's beard, Granger, are you okay?"

Hermione looked up, startled. "Malfoy?"

He sat on the floor, maybe a meter from her, in much the same position.

"I think I'm all right," she said as she looked herself over for any obvious damage. "Luckily I landed on a spot where I've got at least a little natural cushion."

Draco chuckled in spite of himself, pushing up to stand, and then holding a hand out to her. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

Only when Hermione had placed a hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet did she register his words. As though trying to get her bearings, she clung to his fingers, pressing the palm of her free hand to her chest. "Did you just apologize to me?"

Appearing almost startled, the pale-haired Slytherin suddenly glanced around the corridor. "Yes," he said, after assuring himself they were alone.

"And you . . . a moment ago, you sounded like you were actually . . . concerned you might've injured me."

He fidgeted as he pointedly dropped his gaze to her fingers, clamped tight around his. "Well, I—I was."

Hermione seemed to shrink, pulling her shoulders inward to fold in on herself, though she didn't step back from him.

The effect made him arch a brow at her. "What?"

"You're asking _me_ what? In the last minute you've treated me more decently than you have in all the years we've known one another."

He opened his mouth, but no response came. Instead, he merely closed it again, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head.

As quickly as she'd gotten distracted—standing in an empty corridor, holding the hand of an apologetic, concerned Draco Malfoy—she remembered why she was here in the first place. "The box!"

Her sudden shout alarmed him. "What box?" He watched as she relinquished his hand and spun on a heel.

"Oh, no," she said, her voice soft as she hurried to the small, silver case and knelt to retrieve it. "It opened."

"Is that bad?"

Hermione stood, peering into the open box. "I don't know. It was hidden in Gryffindor tower, so I was bringing it to the Head Matron. I just didn't think it was wise to open it, since . . . whoever hid it locked it in the first place."

Frowning, Draco peeked in, as well. "What is that?"

Her mouth twitched to one side as she traced the small wooden figure with her gaze. "I don't know," she said, snapping the case shut. "And I . . . don't care, either."

His brows shot up. "You, Hermione Granger, don't care to _know_ something?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I wouldn't mind knowing, but only if Professor McGonagall sees fit to share it with me. I'm not going out of my way to get involved in anything."

"Well, they do say war changes people."

Hermione recognized the snarky, veiled insult—implying that she couldn't help poking her nose where it didn't belong—but his phrasing was what caught her attention. "Is that what happened to you?" Now that she thought on it, that was probably exactly what had happened to Harry, as well.

Casting his gaze to the floor, he blinked several times in rapid succession before responding. "A _lot_ has happened to me. Um, you should—you should probably get that to Professor McGonagall. Be careful with it, whatever it is. Just . . . just in case."

Hermione felt her eyes go wide and her heart seemed to skip a beat. "Draco Malfoy, are you actually worried about me?"

His expression soured. "Oh, shut up."

She couldn't help but smile at the expression that reminded her of the old Draco.

"But, I . . . I am sorry, Granger."

She was about to brush off his words, after all, her pride was probably more bruised than her bum; she was fine. But then she noticed the direction of his gaze. He was looking at her throat. Instantly mindful, she lifted her free hand, trailing the tips of her fingers along the thin scar on her throat.

"You mean for what your aunt did?" Her voice came out a soft tumble of words.

He met her gaze, his grey eyes pained, but clear. "I . . ." he shrugged, stuffing his fists in his pockets. "I meant for . . . everything."

Hermione didn't know what to say, only able to watch him, her brow furrowing, as he turned and started to walk away.

"Draco?"

He halted and turned his head, but not quite enough to look at her.

"Thank you."

At that, he pivoted slightly, catching her gaze. "You're welcome, just uh . . . I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone I said that."

In a blink, she understood. Just as Harry acted like he was still the same around everyone else, Draco Malfoy being kind to _her _was likely to cause an uproar in Slytherin house loud enough to echo through the entirety of Hogwarts.

"Complicated, right?"

A short, quiet laugh rumbled out of him, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Exactly."

"Sure," she nodded. "It'll, uh, be our secret."

Again he gave that little, breathy laugh. Nodding—she'd ignore that she could swear she noticed his smile widen—he turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

After she was certain he was gone, Hermione continued on her way to the Head Matron's office. Her thoughts slipped around in her head, crashing into one another.

Harry was acting like a flirtatious lech, and Draco was being kind and concerned? Blinking hard, she pressed a hand to the side of her head. And _she_ was the only one privy to either of those bizarre, downright alien aspects of them?

What was the world coming to?


	2. Surprises & Expectations

**I like Narcissa Malfoy, okay?**

**(we'll ignore that I killed her off in **_**Tourniquet, **_**some plunnies have harsher demands than others****)**

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**My other** _**HP**_ **Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**One-Shot,** Lemon])

_Distractions _([PwP] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [_only_ on AFF. Net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _([PwP] Draco-Hermione-Blaise [_only _on AFF. Net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers_ ([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me _(Dramione/Scormione [18 yr old. Scorpius])

**NEW! **_Tourniquet _(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Surprises & Expectations

Hermione started, casting a glance over her shoulder as she reached the elaborate entryway to Professor McGonagall's office. Of course as she darted her gaze about, she found no one. Yet, for the vaguest second she could have sworn . . . .

No, there had _definitely_ been the sensation of fingers trailing through her hair.

She wasn't certain which was more unsettling—that no one was present to have touched her hair, or that for a split second, she felt certain she'd look and find Draco Malfoy standing behind her.

Warmth tinged her cheeks at the acknowledgement. Shaking her head at how utterly ridiculous she was being, she merely continued onward. Whatever Malfoy had gone on about a few minutes ago had nothing do with her, directly, and she should simply be glad he found reason to turn over a new leaf. And as for feeling someone touch her hair, well . . . .

She had so very much hair, anyway, perhaps all she'd felt was one of her crazy locks tousling in a wayward breeze.

* * *

"Oh my," Professor McGonagall said, perching her spectacles on the bridge of her nose as she held the box carefully. She tipped the silver container this way and that, examining the tiny wood effigy as best she could without actually touching it.

After Hermione set the jewelry box down on the desk, the Head Matron had immediately sent for someone. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—though, in Hermione's early departure from the meal to find Harry, she'd missed the introduction, so she hadn't the foggiest idea who they expected.

Hermione spoke up, despite that she heard someone entering the office; after all, both professors would need to hear how she'd come across whatever that was, wouldn't they? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to open the box. I tried to leave it closed, but I sort of . . . smacked into Malfoy, and it went flying, and hit the wall, and—"

"I do hope you're both all right," a female voice said from behind her.

Arching a brow, Hermione spun cautiously—she recognized the voice, but only vaguely. Her eyes widened, but Professor McGonagall was oblivious to the girl's shock, stepping around her to present the box to new professor.

"Thank you for coming, Narcissa. I'd like you to examine this artifact, if you would?"

Nodding, the pale-haired woman withdrew her wand. With a flick, she drew the wooden figure into the air, reading the energy around it as it turned in a slow circle.

"Where did you find this?"

Blinking hard, Hermione shook her head, forcing herself to speak. "It was hidden inside the flue in Gryffindor tower. I knocked a brick loose, by accident, and it just sort of . . . fell out."

McGonagall whirled on her heel to face the girl. "You . . . ." Sighing, the professor pressed a hand to her forehead, apparently collecting herself before she continued. "You knocked a brick from the interior of the fireplace?"

"By accident! Please don't be upset with me, Professor. And I left Seamus to fix up the flue. He is our resident fire expert, after all."

Professor McGonagall bit back a grin. "I swear that boy is flame-retardant by now."

"I must say, Minerva," Narcissa's voice drifted between the Gryffindor witches, drawing their attention. "This piece . . . troubles me."

Turning her head sharply, McGonagall's gaze shot from Narcissa, to the effigy, and back. "Is it dark magic?"

"I can't quite say, hence why it should trouble me," Narcissa said, her voice light, and distracted—and sounding rather like she'd spent far too many years in the company of _Lucius _Malfoy, Hermione thought. "Rather, I feel as though something _was_ here, and now . . . ."

"Now?" Hermione echoed, swallowing hard.

Narcissa directed the item back into the box, sealing it shut with a tap of her wand. "Now I don't know. I can tell you that wood is . . . ancient, possibly spelled at one time. _Possibly_ a piece left over from crafting something very particular, and _then_ fashioned into the figure we see now."

All three women lapsed into silence as they stared at the mysterious silver box.

Realizing she stood beside Narcissa Malfoy, Hermione gave herself a shake. "I'm—I'm sorry, Mrs. . . . I mean, Professor Malfoy. I had no idea you were the new Dark Arts teacher. How did—?"

"It's a probation, of sorts. Turning what I've learned to the greater good, and all that. Your friend Harry spoke on my behalf, actually."

Hermione nodded, numbly, aware of Narcissa's role in the turn the War took thanks to Harry's retelling of the events in the Forbidden Forest. With a jolt, Hermione's _prized pupil_ tendencies kicked in, insisting she give a teacher _no_ reason to view her in a negative light, and she found herself babbling at the former dark witch.

"I'm glad to see that you're being given this chance. And—earlier with Draco—that was an accident. I didn't see him, he didn't see me and we just sort of barreled into one another. But he was okay, I was okay. He even helped me up and apologized!"

Narcissa and Minerva exchanged a glance, each holding back a laugh at the girl's sudden, nervous rambling.

Biting her lip, Narcissa stepped directly before Hermione and clasped her hands in front of her. "I know that you've . . . not had the best history with our family. However, I am glad to see you're well after all you endured."

Hermione didn't quite expect an apology from Narcissa Malfoy, but she couldn't help but feel that the acknowledgment was worth the same thing in the Slytherin witch's eyes.

Nodding, Hermione grinned, in spite of herself. "I see Draco's not the only one who's had a change of heart since the War."

Narcissa furrowed her brow, intrigued. "What did you speak of with my son?"

"Oh, not—not much," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Only, he sort of said what you just did, and well, it wasn't ever like Draco to show concern for someone before. Especially not a . . . ." She held back the word, her suddenly wary gaze shooting between the two professors.

Nodding, Narcissa completed the sentence, her voice soft. "Especially not a _muggle-born_."

For a moment, Hermione could only hold Narcissa Malfoy's gaze. She never thought she'd hear a member of the most arrogant pureblood family on the planet refer to her as anything other than a mudblood. She thought, perhaps, that was a show for Professor McGonagall's benefit, but then . . . Narcissa didn't _have_ to have completed the statement, at all.

Hermione forced a nod. "Yes. Um, it's getting late, professors. May I go?"

"Certainly," McGonagall said with a nod. "Good night, Miss Granger."

Narcissa granted the younger witch a polite nod of parting as Hermione spun on a heel and headed for the door.

* * *

As she climbed the staircase toward Gryffindor tower, Hermione puzzled over why Harry didn't mention speaking on Narcissa Malfoy's behalf to arrange this probation. But then, he probably thought she'd have found out at the feast, and he'd explain when she bothered to ask.

She halted, frowning darkly. Swallowing hard, she crept closer to the stone railing and peered down at the floors below.

The sensation trailing across her skin didn't feel like she was being watched, no. More that she was overwhelmed with the distinct impression that a person was there. Walking, or standing about, with or without Hermione's presence to witness it, but she felt certain she'd find _someone_ down there.

As earlier, no one was about. And the notice made her acutely aware of the fact that she was _alone_.

Ignoring the shiver dancing up her spine, Hermione pulled away from the edge and continued up the steps.

* * *

"So what happened?"

Hermione jumped, turning toward the sofa to find Harry sitting up, rubbing his eyes. The common room was empty, otherwise. He'd waited up for her?

Given his early behavior, she refused to let the idea warm her. Honestly, she hadn't been gone _that_ long, had she?

"Nothing, really. I brought it to Professor McGonagall, Professor _Malfoy_ examined it, but she couldn't determine much."

"Oh," he stood and stretched, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that, I meant to mention it, really."

"Whatever," Hermione said, her tone airy as she shook her head, looking away from him. "It's . . . fine. Between you talking about_ us_ snogging earlier, and Malfoys showing concern and apologizing, I'm starting to wonder if I'm not really here. Maybe I took a good knock on the head during the War, and I'm actually in a bed at St. Mungo's, hallucinating all this!"

Harry walked up to her, smirking at her unexpected outburst as she caught her breath. "How can you say something's fine, and holler about it?"

She huffed, shaking her head and still refusing to look at him.

"And Malfoy_s_, as in plural?"

Nodding, she shrugged. "I ran into Draco, and he apologized for . . . basically everything. Honestly," she lifted her gaze to Harry's then, a startled glint in her eyes. "Draco Malfoy, polite and considerate . . . it was unsettling."

Harry chuckled. She'd already forgiven him for earlier—she didn't have to say it, he knew her so well, he could tell from her sudden ease and comfort around him.

"Oh, no! I just remembered I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone about that, and I told you _and_ his mum!"

"So you mean you don't want me to say anything?"

Hermione bit her lip, nodding. "I would appreciate that, actually."

"Okay, fine. Now, about that other thing . . . ."

Furrowing her brow, she asked, "What other thing?"

Harry leaned into her, catching her off-guard as he brought his mouth down on hers. He tilted his head, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue.

She raised her hands to push him away, instead she found herself gripping her fingers into his shirtfront. Giving into the flickering warmth drifting over her, she kissed him back, nipping and sucking at his tongue.

Circling her with his arms, he pulled her tight to him. He resisted the urge to grab her leg and lift it to pull it over his hip. That might be too far, just now.

But then, with the way she clung to him as she caressed his tongue with her own . . . . It'd just be a tiny sample, after all.

He slid a hand over her bottom and down along the back of her thigh. Hooking his fingers behind her knee, he raised her leg and rested it against his hip.

Hermione shuddered at the feel of Harry pressing between her thighs—thinking this was getting a bit far, a bit fast—but when she broke the kiss to voice a protest, he brought his lips to the side of her throat. The grazing of his teeth, and stroking of his tongue against her skin undid her. She trembled, her head falling back as she let out a tiny, breathless moan.

Now that he knew he'd gotten to her, Harry forced himself to pull away. Wasn't going to be any fun if he didn't get her to want it as much as he did, now was it?

Hermione only stared at him in a daze, her cheeks flushed, and her bottom lip shivering.

"See, Hermione," he said, grinning at her. "'S only a little snogging."

She inhaled sharply, willing herself to find a response. "Only a little—"

"Oh, come off it." Normally, he found her coy act cute, but at the moment, it irritated him. "You enjoyed that, just now, stop acting like I did something terrible!"

She frowned, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling a moment. "You're right, okay, I did, but . . . what if it turns out something terrible?"

Harry arched a brow behind his glasses.

"This is a bad idea, Harry! You said before you didn't want anything complicated, so . . . how can we be friends—_best_ friends—and then do things like this, and have it not end up complicated?"

He shrugged, stuffing a fist into his trouser pocket. "It'll be easy if we don't _overthink _it."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she threw up her hands. "When have you known me to not overthink _anything_?"

Chuckling, he shot out his free hand, cupping the back of her head and pulling her close for another kiss. Despite her adamant words to the contrary, she opened to him, eagerly caressing his tongue with her own.

He withdrew, staring into her eyes for a moment as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

She was speechless. How could she argue this when he could prove the intent behind her words false so easily?

"Try." He stepped back from her, smiling. "G'night, Hermione."

Hermione watched him turn on a heel and head off to the boys' dormitory wing. Drawing in a trembling breath, she trudged across the floor to collapse into the sofa in a sitting position.

She forced away her natural inclination to puzzle over what she should do about this. Maybe Harry was right, maybe if she didn't let herself overthink it, it wouldn't be a big deal.

* * *

The next afternoon found Hermione pinging back and forth from being a mess, to being okay with what had gone on between her and her _best friend_ the previous night. She'd tossed and turned for hours—if she'd gotten twenty minutes of sleep, she'd be surprised.

Yawning she forced a long stretch and then drooped forward. Carefully pinching out the spine of the book she sought, she eased it down from the shelf and spun.

She crashed into someone, sending the book flying from her hands. "Sorry, sorry! I wasn't—"

"Twice in less than twenty-four hours? Honestly, Granger, I'm going to start thinking you're doing this on purpose."

Hermione stammered, unable to find her voice for a moment as she stared up into Draco Malfoy's grey eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, strangely aware that if not for that moment between them last night, apologizing to_ him _would be the furthest thing from her mind right now. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, rubbing the back of his wrist—she guessed that must've been their point of impact. "Fine. You?"

His question caught her off-guard, never mind it was logical, Draco Malfoy and inquiring about the wellbeing of others were not notions which normally went together.

She forced a nod, finally pulling her gaze from his—why did she have to put effort into looking away from those eyes—to look for her book. "And, once again, you knocked what I was carrying clear away from me."

Brow furrowing, he turned his attention to finding her book, as well. "Ah," he stooped to pick it up, examining the dull, cracked cover as he handed her the tome. "The History and Symbolism of Wood Crafting? Are we taking up carpentry?"

Hermione giggled, forcing down notice of how odd she felt giggling because of Malfoy. "No, um, you remember that little figure, or whatever it was in that box last night?"

"Oh, right. So I take it Professor McGonagall couldn't tell anything about it?"

"No, and neither did your _mother_. Thanks for warning me about that when we bumped into one another last night."

Draco shrugged. "I didn't realize you didn't know, she was introduced during—"

"I know, I know. I just wasn't there for it because I went to . . ." Hermione dropped her gaze, again, as she forced a gulp. "I went to check on Harry. He wasn't—wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, of course," Draco said, a touch of his old snark returning as one corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Where else would you be, if not hanging out in Potter's shadow?"

Her face fell as she met his eyes, again. To think, she'd actually let herself believe Draco Malfoy could try for being nice and stay that way.

"That's a mean thing to say."

"Look I'm—" A group of Slytherin tromped into the library, then, unnecessarily loud, cutting him off.

She watched him turn his attention to the other students, so she didn't notice his fingers slip around her arm until he was already pulling her around the other side of the bookshelf. Were she not so distracted with the Slytherin in front of her, she might've gone right back around and lectured them for being so disrespectful in the library.

They might as well be swearing in the middle of a church, as far as Hermione was concerned.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his head ducked close to hers so he could whisper, yet still be heard over the raucous group. "I only meant that as a joke, honestly."

There was something about the way his breath tickled, warm, over the side of her throat. She was probably just hyper-aware of her skin after what happened with Harry last night. Still, understanding didn't stop her from trembling.

Too late she realized that he stood close enough to feel her agitation.

Draco pulled back to meet her gaze. Those large, chestnut eyes staring up at him, and her lips parted ever so slightly as a blush stained her cheeks pink . . . . He had no idea she could look like this.

Hermione didn't know what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all—perhaps she really had taken Harry's words on not overthinking things to heart and simply hadn't realized. Suddenly, she found herself standing on her toes, to brush her lips against his.

She withdrew, meeting his bewildered gaze. "Should . . . ." she cleared her throat and started again. "Should I apologize for that?"

Draco bit his lip, thinking that over. After what seemed forever, he shook his head.

He tilted his face toward her. Yet, just as she drifted closer, leaning into him, again, someone came barging around the bookshelf. He snapped back to his full height and she backpedaled a step.

Seamus' voice rang out, loud enough to play competition for the rowdy group of Slytherin. "There you are, Hermione! Harry's been looking for you."

"Right, okay," she said, nodding as she clutched her book against her chest.

As she trailed after Seamus, she heard Draco mutter, "Shadow."

She glanced back toward him as she rounded the corner of the shelf. He had his nose stuck in a book, but one corner of his mouth curved up into the slightest of smiles.

Hermione found she couldn't help a small smile of her own as she exited the library. She froze, right outside the doors.

_I just kissed Draco Malfoy._ Raising a hand from the book, she touched her fingers to her lips.

Her eyes widened. _And I _liked_ it._


	3. Lore & Shadow

**GENERAL REVIEWS RESPONSE****:**

**I assure everyone that I am NOT turning Harry into a villain in this fic, nor a 'bad guy', at all. He's acting a bit selfishly, yes, but if we take an unbiased look back at the source material, we find a few not-so-fond memories of Harry being a jerk, on occasion. He's being a bad boy, that's_ it_. **

**Hermione is a very brave, bold girl. Why is it so 'unusual' to have her initiate a first kiss? We never got a true gauge of her character in a romantic context, as we largely only had Harry's PoV in the canon, and even what we _did_ see of Hermione in that aspect was rather limited in scope.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**To my knowledge _sanguimancy_, as you'll read about in this chapter, does not appear anywhere else. Blood magic, maybe (I honestly have no idea how often blood magic may, or may not, appear in _HP_ fanfictions) but the specific term is of my own design.**

* * *

**My other** **_HP_** **Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Distractions _([PwP] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [_only_ on AFF. Net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _([PwP] Draco-Hermione-Blaise [_only _on AFF. Net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers_ ([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me _(Dramione/Scormione [18 yr old. Scorpius])

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Lore & Shadow

Hermione frowned, her eyes rolling as she reached the corridor Seamus had said Harry was in. After last night she wasn't certain she wanted to be alone with him, yet . . . in all the classes they shared, he acted like the same old Harry. As though last night hadn't happened.

It made her wonder if he was right; if they could manage two completely separate relationships with one another, as long as they didn't think too much on the matter. She also staunchly ignored that one of the reasons she was acting so uptight and difficult with him was that she _had _enjoyed what happened, and there was a part of her that was looking forward to another chance at doing that again.

Probably the same part of her that had thought it a good idea to kiss Draco Malfoy.

Shaking her head, she pushed her thoughts away and continued along the corridor. _Strange place_. Warm afternoon sun streamed outside the castle walls, and yet, here shadows crept in the corners. This corridor, itself . . . .

Hermione halted, darting her gaze about. She knew there were some older parts of the castle, in a dreadful state of disrepair, which were not used for school purposes. Though, even in all her years poking about Hogwarts with Harry and Ron, they'd never _actually_ come across any of the unused portions . . . . Well, if one excluded their first year misadventure on the third floor, of course.

She was curious, in spite of herself, as to what the rooms in this corridor might contain. Yet, she puzzled over what she was doing here.

The shifting shadows made her feel as though the space was actually darker, and more confining, than it truly was. Drawing her wand, she illuminated the tip, providing a comforting wash of light.

"Harry?" She called, disliking the twinge of cold nervousness twisting in the pit of her stomach.

Footfalls sounded from around a bend in the corridor, and she started. Pulling back her arm, she braced herself to hurl a spell, if necessary.

"Hermione, there you are," Harry said as he stepped into her line of sight.

Sighing, she lowered her wand. "What are we doing here?" As soon as the words left her lips, a thought occurred to her and she shifted her weight, ready to spin on her heel and stomp away. "I swear, if this was just some way to get me alone, so that we could—"

"No, no, no," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He shook his head and crossed the corridor to stand before her, his green eyes wide with excitement. "There's a ghost here!"

Her shoulders drooped as she held his gaze, unclear on why that should cause him so much elation. "Harry, this is _Hogwarts_. Of course there are ghosts, here—we're even friends with some of them—and so many people died in the battle, that—"

"A _new_ ghost, and it's _not_ someone who died in the War!"

She furrowed her brow, unaware of quite when he'd slid his fingers around her wrist and begun guiding her down the corridor. "What? I don't understand. And what are we even doing here; how did you find this place?"

"I didn't. Some first year got lost, and stumbled over the corridor entrance. He saw something—interacted with it. It doesn't sound like anything we've seen here, before." Halting, he turned on his heel to face her. "But, no one knows the history of Hogwarts better than you do, so I figure if I tell you, and _you've_ never read mention of it, either . . . ."

"Okay, fine, but," she glanced about, folding her arms around herself, "is there a reason we couldn't discuss this _literally_ anywhere else?"

He shrugged. "I figured this is where he saw it, if it _is_ something new, then we'd already be here to start poking about."

"All right, that makes sense, I suppose. But I don't understand, why are you so excited about this?"

Harry's brow pinched in confusion. "I think because every year we've been here, something big, and insane, and terrifying happened. Now, just knowing there's no threat out there chasing us anymore made being back not . . . . Not feel real. Then I heard about this, and—I don't know—things felt real, again."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. "Okay, fine. Tell me about this new mystery ghost."

* * *

Draco wandered down the staircase to the Slytherin dungeons, his attention on the words of the book he held in his hand. He'd found a second copy of that tome in which Granger had seemed so interested.

He'd sooner curl up and die than let her know he was reading it, but then . . . . There'd simply been something about that little effigy in the silver box. His curiosity had _nothing_ to do with Granger's interest in the artifact, whatsoever, and that was the important thing.

And he wasn't about to think on that little kiss she'd given him. That was probably only an . . . in the moment thing. _Never_ to happen again. Certainly not.

A footfall echoed dimly behind him. Turning his head, he glanced over his shoulder. He saw no one. Odd. There weren't any ghosts that frequented this section of the castle, even Peeves didn't seem keen on wandering into the dungeons.

Yet, as he darted his gaze about, his brow furrowing, he _felt_ something. A press against his skin; the sensation of another person's physical closeness at his back.

Even as he stared behind him, still. Even as he _knew_ nothing was there.

Swallowing hard, he willed himself to ignore the feeling. He turned his attention forward, and went back to his book.

Not a single word of the print before him registered, though. Despite his effort to ignore it, all the way to the Slytherin common room his mind strayed back to the unseen thing that had stood behind him on the stairs.

* * *

"The first year described it as a woman in white," Harry said, as he eased open the first creaking, cobweb-wreathed door they came across.

"A _dame blanche_?" Hermione arched a brow.

Harry stopped in the midst of poking his head into the room to look back at her. "A what?"

She shook her head, her eyes drifting closed for the barest second. "It's French for white lady. And you're right, I've never read anything about one of them being seen at Hogwarts."

"Aha! See? It doesn't belong here, does it?" He stepped into the long-disused classroom, tugging her in behind him.

"No, it doesn't. This also doesn't make any sense." She flicked her wand, sending a ball of light into the center of the room to illuminate the area, fully. Falling back on old habits, she launched into explanation for the question Harry hadn't asked, yet. "A _dame blanche_ is a horribly tragic figure, created under a set of very particular circumstances. The story is always, always, the same. A woman finds that her love has been unfaithful, and flies into a fit of rage. So overwhelmed by her feelings of betrayal and anger, she loses control and causes harm, or death, to her own children. When she realizes what she's done, she spirals into grief and takes her own life."

"That's rather gruesome and depressing."

Hermione only nodded, watching Harry as he peeked into cupboards and inside desks. "What becomes of them after that can vary. Some wander, endlessly, crying as they search for their children. That's why, in some parts of the world, they're called wailing women. There's actually a quite famous story of a wailing woman in Mexico called _La Llorona._ But, there are others who . . . I think are supposed to serve some form of penance before they can move on to reunite with their children in the hereafter."

Harry popped up from behind a desk, wiping dusty palms on his trousers. "So what I'm hearing is it _doesn't_ belong here."

She chuckled, shaking her head. With a sigh, she stepped up to the antiquated blackboard—she could just make out chalk marks on the surface beneath a film of dust—and created a gentle breeze with the end of her wand. She moved in careful strokes, clearing away the obscuring layer.

"I should say not, Harry."

"And so you're not the least bit curious what she's doing here?"

Frowning, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "I never said I wasn't. I just don't know what you expect us to do about her."

"We're going to find out what she's doing here, and how to get her to leave."

Holding in a second sigh, she returned her gaze to the work at hand. "Really? It could be anything. Maybe she's actually not a _dame blanche_, but a banshee and was drawn by the death and chaos of the battle. Maybe she somehow got attached to one of the new students and followed them here."

"Okay, well," Harry's brow furrowed, his mouth moving to keep the words flowing even as he directed his attention to making sense of the work being revealed on the board. "He said that she asked him to help her. She told him she was lost, and asked for him to guide her to the end of the corridor. So . . . he did, but then, when he reached the end, she was simply gone."

"Well, that does sound like a _dame blanche_. They're said to ask for aid, and if you comply, they leave you be. If you don't . . . ." She trailed off, her frown deepening.

His gaze darted from the work on the board, to her, and back. "If you don't?"

"Well, that's not entirely clear what, other than that they'll inflict torments upon you."

Harry's brows shot up over the rims of his glasses. "All the more reason to find a way to be rid of her, before less helpful individuals bump into her, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded, backpedaling until she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry to look at the board. "I suppose you have a . . . point."

The last word fell hollow from her lips, alarming him. He'd not _actually_ put the chalk symbols together, but now, upon seeing her reaction, he wondered if perhaps he didn't because he had a feeling what they would tell him. And it was a thing he didn't want to know.

"Hermione, what are we looking at?"

She bit her lip, silent for a long time as she fought a wash of confused, fearful tears gathering in her eyes. Forcing a breath, she swallowed hard. "Sanguimancy."

Harry borrowed her reaction, forcing a gulp down his throat. "You're telling me we're looking at—"

"Blood magic." She blinked hard a few times, gathering the ball of light back into her wand and spinning on a heel. "I—I don't want to be here, anymore."

He raced after her, but it wasn't until she was back in the main body of the school that she slowed enough for him to catch her elbow. "Hermione, please, I don't understand."

She turned to face him, her dark eyes wide. "I don't either, Harry, and that's why I'm worried."

An understanding expression flitted across his face as he dropped his voice to a whisper, "No, Hermione, you're not worried, you're scared."

Biting her lip, she darted her gaze about before bringing her eyes to meet his. "Okay, fine, you're right. I'm scared. I'm scared because I do know the history of Hogwarts better than anyone and there isn't a single mention of sanguimancy in any text that I've read. Most people don't even know what the word means, other than by breaking down the term through common sense."

"So there's no record of blood magic ever being taught at Hogwarts?"

Hermione forced a sigh, steeling her nerves—though her nerves didn't seem to want to cooperate with any form of reinforcement, just now. "You don't get what I'm saying, at all. I mean, you're practically a muggle-born, so I don't know why it still surprises me when you haven't heard of something in the Wizarding world."

"Hey, now," he said, vaguely insulted, yet, there was truth to her words, so he let it go.

"There's no mention of sanguimancy being taught, anywhere, ever. It's a _myth_. Something that purebloods told their children someone would use on them if they misbehaved."

"That's cheerful." Harry crinkled the bridge of his nose in distaste. Purebloods could be _so_ twisted.

"But no one's told those stories in a _very_ long time, Harry. I'm . . . I'm scared because what was on that board _shouldn't_ exist. And, if it shouldn't exist, then what the bloody hell's it doing in Hogwarts?"

* * *

Hermione paced outside of Professor Malfoy's office. Harry had told her to calm down, to do what she normally did and see if their beloved restricted section of the library could yield any clues as to what they'd found. But, as much as Hermione adored any excuse to tuck herself away behind the shelves, she thought this might be faster.

She was also trying to avoid thinking on how, when she'd turned to walk away, Harry had playfully swatted her on the bum. Of course, she'd spun back around to hiss a warning at him not to do something like that where anyone might see, but he was already striding off in the other direction.

She felt strangely like she could rely on whatever information Narcissa Malfoy might be able to provide her. More than her probationary post, more than turning all she'd learned to good. Hermione felt as though something passed between them last night in McGonagall's office; something soft, and silent, that only other women could understand.

It helped to think the woman was from an old, pureblood family, and had married into another old, pureblood family. If anyone was likely to have answers about obscure, mythical branches of magic—

The office door eased open, and Hermione started, whirling to face the entrance.

Narcissa Malfoy stepped out, a small smile playing on her lips at the sight of the younger witch. Yet, as Hermione moved closer, she halted, again. Draco followed his mother out into the corridor.

Draco's eyebrows shot up as he met her gaze, the faintest hint of red touching his cheeks.

Hermione reeled back the thought that Draco Malfoy blushing at her was sweet, and oddly sort of . . . sexy. No, no . . . dear God, what was Harry doing to her?

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she forced out the words, "I'm so sorry to bother you, Professor Malfoy, but I was wondering, since you're the new Dark Arts teacher . . . . Are you aware of any time when sanguimancy was taught at Hogwarts?"

Draco scoffed, stuffing his fists into his trouser pockets as he shook his head. "Granger, that stuff's just a—"

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Narcissa said, her voice small, yet strangely sharp, a hand up to silence any more quips from her son.

"I . . . ." The dread in Narcissa's tone chilled Hermione, and she had to push herself to explain. "In one of the unused corridors, I came across a classroom that had blood magic formulas written on its board."

Narcissa's eyes widened, the sound of her gulping oddly loud in the space between the three of them. "Show me."


	4. Blood & History

**My other **_**HP **_**Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered_(Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Distractions_([PwP] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [_only_ on AFF. Net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_([PwP] Draco-Hermione-Blaise [_only _on AFF. Net])

_Mortality __([AU] Dramione)_

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_(Dramione/Scormione [18 yr old. Scorpius])

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

**NEW! **_Wizard Theory _([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Blood & History

A deep frown had carved itself into Narcissa's face as she waved her wand across the board, examining the spell work written there. She was muttering to herself under her breath, shaking her head every few seconds.

Draco stood a few meters back, beside Hermione. His grey eyes were wide, and his porcelain cheeks had gone ashen. He didn't seem to want to take his eyes from the faded chalk lines.

Hermione couldn't help biting her lip as she observed how drawn and tight his features were. She leaned toward him, whispering, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He gulped, visibly, and nodded. "Probably because I feel like I'm looking at one."

Narcissa whirled on her heel to face them, giving them both a start. "Miss Granger, would you—no, no. Draco, please, fetch Professor McGonagall, she'll want to see this."

The two students exchanged a glance. "Why Draco instead of me?"

Draco lowered his gaze, once more swallowing hard as he turned and walked to the exit. He didn't look up again as he stepped through the door. Frowning, Hermione met Narcissa's eyes. Draco's reaction unsettled her, but then again, he could simply be revisiting his old, cowardly attitude, and not want to traverse this corridor alone.

Not that she could blame him.

"We do not yet know what the other classrooms in this corridor may hold, nor do we know who put this here. I'm equally concerned about that entity this first year you spoke of mentioned. There is the chance it was _here_, in this portion of the school all along, and something that child did triggered its release."

The girl offered a lifeless nod. She'd not thought of that. In her discussion with Harry, it hadn't occurred to her that the _dame blanche_ might have been an entity somehow trapped here. But that still didn't explain what a creature like that was doing in Hogwarts in the first place, then.

"And, what we are reluctant to tell you . . . ." Narcissa sighed heavily as she stepped around the room in random, waffling directions. She twisted her wand in her fingers, her gaze upon the polished wood. "If there are more entities trapped in these rooms, and _if _they are related to what's on this board, then it could be extremely dangerous for _you_ to traverse this portion of the castle without a pure-blood escorting you."

The Slytherin witch's explanation sent a chill up Hermione's spine, but she pushed it aside. "All right, but _why_?"

Narcissa turned her gaze on Hermione, once more. A smile lifted one corner of her mouth, and crinkled the fair, delicate skin beneath her eyes. "You are a force to be reckoned with, aren't you? All right, Miss Granger. I will tell you, because as the brightest witch of the age, it should be no great feat to handle such information."

Well, Hermione didn't like the sound of that at all—though she did delight in the hint of admiration she believed she heard in Narcissa Malfoy's voice. Nodding, she braced herself for whatever she might hear.

"As you know, pure-blood supremacy was not a new concept when the Dark Lord rose to power. It was an old idea, and old way of life he was trying to bring back. The darkest days of Sanguimancy occurred during the height of pure-blood rule. For a very long time, we'd been made to believe it did not exist, that the tales of what it was used for mere fantasy."

Narcissa paused, drawing a long breath and letting it out slowly as she waved her wand over the teacher's desk, gently blowing away the dust. The surface clear, she settled back, sitting on the desk and crossing her legs at the ankles; the proper, ladylike way, Hermione noted.

"Now, as I see evidence that Sanguimancy actually existed, I must believe that those tales could be quite factual."

Understanding crashed through Hermione's mind, suddenly, like a gust of chilled air. "If the darkest days of blood magic were during the height of pure-blood supremacy, then that means—"

"Yes," Narcissa said, swallowing hard and fixing her gaze on the far wall. She couldn't look at the girl's face as she confirmed such a ghastly idea. Not when she still recalled this girl's screams, and the look on her face, as Bellatrix tormented her.

Not when she wondered would've become of her, had her sister known how to wield such a terrible magic.

"One of the things for which Sanguimancy was most commonly used was controlling Muggle-borns."

"Oh," Hermione said simply, nodding again as she resisted the urge to just let her legs give out and land her, sitting, on the filthy floor. She'd had a feeling she knew what Narcissa was going to say, yet she was still unprepared for it.

"And realizing the power of blood lead to terrible things," Narcissa continued, her voice hollow and distant. "We . . . we were told, in these stories, that some wizards, found themselves fancying Muggle-born witches. Though, their hands were tied because they could not act without sullying their family lines, and bringing disgrace upon their houses."

Narcissa opened her mouth to speak further, but closed it again, just as quickly. "I don't think I should say any more."

Hermione's lips were moving, words falling from between them, despite that she was certain she didn't want to _hear_ any more. "No, no. Go on."

The elder witch chanced a hurried glance at the door, before she said, "All right, quickly then, before Professor McGonagall arrives. I fear this is not knowledge she wishes upon any student's mind. You mustn't tell her I've shared this with you."

Nodding, Hermione stepped close so that Narcissa could lower her voice. "I promise."

"The term Mudblood was taken quite literally at that time. And so . . . these wizards who wanted Muggle-born witches, but could not have them because of their blood status began experimenting. Crude transfusions, designed to purge them of their Muggle blood, and replace it with pure blood. Transfusions were a human convention, of course, but even the Wizarding world knew that they could go horribly wrong. They attempted to use the magic to force the blood to work in the new body."

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth as her stomach roiled. Wizards tried to_ fashion _the witches they desired _into_ pure-bloods?

The door creaked open behind them then, and Hermione shuddered before she could turn to face the back of the room.

There, Draco stood with Professor McGonagall. His gaze darted from Hermione's face, to his mother's, and back. Giving a confused scowl as he shook his head, he was to Hermione's side in a blink.

He leaned down, bringing himself eye-level with her as he watched her face. "Granger, what's wrong?"

"I, um . . . ." Her stomach twisted again, and she swallowed hard. She didn't even glance in Narcissa's direction, afraid the action would be telling. "I'm just not feeling very well."

Professor McGonagall's expression was grim, her eyes wide as she took in the blackboard's contents. "Seems I'm not feeling so well, myself. Mr. Malfoy, would you please escort Miss Granger to the hospital wing?"

Hermione frowned, though she was in no fit state to shake off Draco's hand as he slid his fingers around her elbow. "But Professor," she said weakly, her curiosity getting the better of her, "I don't want to go. I want to know what's in those other rooms, too."

"Miss Granger, given your history, I doubt I would have much luck keeping you and Mr. Potter out of this corridor. Therefore, I will save myself the trouble now and tell you that I will allow your involvement in our research of this corridor. But you will _only_ do so as an assistant to myself, or Professor Malfoy. You are not to come here without one of _us_ accompanying you. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione swallowed again. Her stomach was still flipping and rolling—Narcissa Malfoy's revelations must've unsettled her more than she'd thought. At least she understood why the pure-bloods in the room had their hackles raised.

"Perfectly, Professor," Hermione said softly.

The Head Matron gave a sharp nod and then locked her unforgiving gaze on Draco's. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, if you would?"

"Right, of course. Sorry, Professor." Draco's fingers tightened ever so slightly—his hold firm, but gentle—around Hermione's elbow, and he tugged her from the room.

Hermione didn't argue. She might've if she felt any better by the time they'd reached Madam Pomfrey's desk, but she hadn't. If anything, she thought perhaps she actually felt worse. Maybe she breathed in something down there.

Or maybe a corner of her mind kept imagining the sickening scenario of being kidnapped by some brutish, lovesick wizard and forced to endure experimental blood-magic procedures.

* * *

After Hermione was settled in a bed, and Madam Pomfrey bustled away, she confided to Draco what his mother had said. For his part, the young man looked a bit sick himself, after she finished.

"I knew the stories about controlling the Muggle-borns, but I didn't . . . I didn't know about the experiments."

"I bet they stopped telling those stories before our generation was even born," Hermione whispered. Grimacing, she choked down the medicinal concoction before her.

"Phew," she whispered, relieved at the instant settling of her stomach. "This stuff is fast acting."

"Yeah, that's not why she made you take one of the beds. It's for the side effect of severe dizziness that will hit if you so much as take a step."

Looking over the edge of the bed at the floor she winced, her head swimming for a moment.

He watched her cautiously, his hands out, as though prepared to catch her.

Forcing a gulp down her throat she sat back, staring at him. "Are you . . . are you actually worried about me?"

Draco blinked rapidly and shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead.

"What?"

She bit her lip and shifted against the pillow at her back. "It's just . . . bizarre. Never imagined _you_ would show concern for me."

"Well, seeing as_ I _never imagined being concerned for you, I'd say we're on even ground."

For a long, silent moment, she only held his gaze. And then she remembered she'd kissed him. Feeling a bit of warmth flare in her cheeks, she dropped her gaze into her lap.

She could tell he knew what she was thinking about, thanks to the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat. Though Hermione didn't lift her eyes, she could see him step closer in her periphery.

"Granger, I know this may not be the best time to ask, but . . . why did you kiss me?"

Shrugging, she clasped her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers. "I don't know, really. I just . . . I just wanted to. It . . . I think it simply felt like one of those moments."

"One of those moments?" He echoed, his voice low.

Was he leaning closer? Nodding, she looked up—yes, he certainly was a bit closer, though from his demeanor Hermione wasn't entirely sure he realized it. "Yeah. One of those moments that's just sort of perfect, and it feels right. No other way to explain it, really."

His dark eyebrows lifted, slipping beneath the fringe of his pale hair. "So if a moment like that happened again?"

Her breath shuddered out of her as she held his gaze, her cheeks warming once more. "Then . . . I suppose I might kiss you, again."

Draco didn't know what came over him—but then, perhaps he did, and he simply didn't want to admit it. He leaned nearer, his gaze falling to her lips.

Her eyes drifted closed, yet snapped open immediately, a hand against his chest to still him. "Wait, I just drank that ghastly medicine!"

He chuckled. "Granger, if there's anyone accustomed to the pitfalls of hiding out in the hospital wing—like knowing what nearly every ghastly medicine in here tastes like—it's me."

"Oh, is that to say you've developed a liking for such horrid concoctions?"

Draco tipped his head to one side, his gaze searching hers, and their faces still so very close to one another. "Certainly not. It just means I don't mind suffering a bit for a worthy reward."

Hermione leaned up, closing the distance to press her mouth to his. After a moment of the soft, gentle pressure of her lips brushing over his, she fell back against her pillow, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Opening his eyes to meet her gaze, he laughed. "Still worried about the taste?"

She couldn't help an embarrassed grin as she nodded.

"Fine," he said, scowling—yet, she recognized it as a feigned expression, "but this isn't over."

"Oh?"

"Hermione!"

She and Draco looked up, surprised. Honestly, she thought it a feat that he didn't jump away from her bedside the way he started.

"Harry, why are you yelling?"

As he reached her, he schooled his features, his gaze darting from Draco to Hermione. "Oh, no, sorry. Didn't . . . didn't realize. They said you're sick?"

"Some stomach thing," she said, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine. You two can go. If I need anyone fussing over me, Madam Pomfrey is right there."

"Oh, you're not shooing me away," Harry said, his tone huffy as he folded his arms across his chest.

Draco recognized this as his cue to leave—they might not have intended it as such, but he was going to take it, anyway, before Potter could read anything into their interactions that would cause trouble. With a wave and a curt nod, he turned on his heel and started away.

"Um, thank you for your help, Malfoy."

Draco gave a half-glance over his shoulder in acknowledgment of her words and kept walking.

"Draco Malfoy being helpful," Harry said, his face pinched in thought, "that may be the most troubling thing I've seen in a long time."

Hermione giggled as she pulled the thin blanket over herself. She kept her movements simple, and delicate. After the dizzy spell from simply looking at the floor, she didn't want to risk a single harsh motion.

She was starting to feel sleepy. Forcing out a yawn, she hurriedly and quietly relayed to Harry what she'd learned about the history of Sanguimancy. She also secured from him the promise that he wouldn't tell anyone—the same as she'd done with Draco.

At some point after, while he was still trying to figure out what his reaction to that information was, Hermione had drifted off.

* * *

During the night, she awoke a once, twice, maybe. Each time, she found Harry asleep in a chair pulled up to her bedside, both of his hands clasped around one of hers.

Perhaps her best friend really hadn't changed that much, after all.


	5. Sleep & Fear

**As this is the 5****th**** chapter, _Dame Blanche_ is now on hold until **_**Mortality**_**, **_**Lessons in Hedonism**_**, **_**Unnatural Magick**_** & **_**Wizard Theory**_** reach their 5****th**** chapters. Any new fics that start in the meanwhile will simply be added into the update schedule as-is, I will not make you guys wait for fresh-started stories to reach a set number of chapters before the ones you're reading continue.**

**In this chapter, a relatively unknown canon character (Fay Dunbar) makes an appearance.**

* * *

**On a side note, I am considering a Dramione ghost story One-Shot for Halloween, but I have there is no plunnie for this yet, so maybe not.**

**And I apologize for not having more fic updates in general recently, had a bit of a health scare that was rather preoccupying.**

* * *

**My other **_**HP** _**Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Distractions _([PwP] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [_only_ on AFF. Net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _([PwP] Draco-Hermione-Blaise [_only _on AFF. Net])

_Mortality _([AU] Dramione)

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me _(Dramione/Scormione [18 yr old. Scorpius])

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

**NEW! **_Wizard Theory _([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Sleep & Fear

Narcissa frowned, trailing a fingertip along the rim of her teacup.

Minerva's eyebrows drew together, watching the movement as she sipped from her own cup. A day had passed since the unsettling discovery in the unused corridor, and they were in her office to plan a schedule for exploration and research of the _lost_ _classrooms _therein. She'd spent the time between this evening and last combing over every school record she could find.

There was _nothing_ to explain the spellwork on that board. She wouldn't say such aloud, but that lone discovery made her fearful of what other dark ghosts from the Wizarding world's past might lurk in those rooms.

The clinking sound of setting her cup against its saucer echoed through the room. "Narcissa?"

Eyebrows shooting up into her hairline, the Slytherin witch looked up. "Hmm?"

"I realize this is a troubling thing, indeed, but . . . . Would I be off to suggest that something else bothers you?"

Narcissa gave a small, tight-lipped smile as she gently pushed away her cup. "It's this business with Miss Granger," she said, folding her delicate, long-fingered hands in her lap. "The children may not know_ all_ the stories of Sanguimancy, but we do. Is it really wise that you're allowing her such close involvement with that place?"

At this, Minerva couldn't help a short chuckle. "Oh, Narcissa, you remind me that you're still so very new to the Hogwarts staff. There would be no keeping the girl out of there." Her face pinched into an exasperated scowl. "Trust me, if there's one thing I know, it's that even when Miss Granger, and by extension Mr. Potter, try to stay out of trouble, _it_ finds them."

A smile curved Narcissa's thin, meticulously painted lips in spite of herself. "I see. She is a rather stubborn thing." Her smile faded as she said, "I worry for perhaps that very reason."

Brow furrowing once more, Minerva took a hurried sip before asking, "How so?"

The pale-haired woman shrugged, seeming to fold in on herself. "If the darkest of those stories regarding blood magic are true, then I would fear for Miss Granger's safety, as she seems the perfect candidate for those who desired such ghastly procedures performed."

Minerva's eyes widened as that observation sank in.

Narcissa elaborated, her head shaking. "She is powerful, intelligent, strong-minded—if one didn't already know her blood status, she could easily be taken for a pure-blood witch. When those . . ._things _happened, she probably would have had many suitors eager to purge her blood so that they might claim her as their bride."

"I do not hear you voicing concern for the other Muggle-borns in attendance here," Minerva said, her tone questioning.

"That is because if what you say is true, other students would be barred easily enough by deeming the area off limits. And that entity—the _dame blanche_—if it was somehow conjured in connection with those lessons, then all the more reason to worry for her."

Minerva chewed her bottom lip in thought, her attention on Dumbledore's portrait—her old friend's image was dozing just now. She wondered briefly if she should wake him and seek his counsel. She didn't know what was more troubling, that the truth of Sanguimancy's existence was not news to some of the former headmasters when she'd asked, or that they refused to speak on the matter with a tell-tale shudder wracking them.

After a moment, she met Narcissa's gaze."Do you believe this creature might target her?"

Pale head nodding, Narcissa frowned deeply. "I don't know that it _will_, but . . . after seeing how she and Draco were around each other—"

"You think due to their different blood statuses, the _dame blanche_ would do something to assist in making her a _fitting _bride in the belief that it was aiding a pure-blood?"

"I think it is a possibility we must consider. A very close eye should be kept on Miss Granger at _all_ times when she is in that corridor."

The Head Matron nodded, the gesture short, but severe. Though . . . Miss Granger speaking of Draco's change in demeanor their first night back at Hogwarts, and Narcissa's mention just now of their behavior toward one another made her consider something.

"Do you think Draco would object to assisting us with this task?"

Biting her lip a moment, Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "You mean do I think he'd be willing to watch over Miss Granger while she assists us?"

Again Minerva nodded.

Narcissa shrugged, settling back in the armchair. "I think he just might. As long as we don't _mention_ that that's his intended purpose."

The elder witch gave a sagely grin. "Ah, yes, young men and their pride."

Smiling herself, Narcissa at last took a sip of her tea, feeling more at ease now that she'd voiced her concerns.

"Speaking of prideful men," Minerva said, coming back to a terrible thought which had occurred to her last evening, after Miss Granger's unfortunate stomach bug. "I know this might not be easy to discuss, but do you believe it possible that . . . _Voldemort_," she still had trouble speaking that name, but she forced herself, "is responsible for that room? He was the one to find the Chamber of Secrets, perhaps he was able to somehow glean the secrets of Sanguimancy while he was here, as well."

"Certainly not," Narcissa said, strangely relieved at the truthfulness in her response. "Had the Dark Lord known such magic, he would not have hesitated to use it. He might never have fallen eighteen years ago, as he would've been able to control the Muggle-borns."

Minerva's brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to ask, but Narcissa continued on before she could get the words out.

"Who would have denied pure-blood supremacy, were the Muggle-borns the ones supporting its reestablishment?"

Sinking back in her chair, Minerva McGonagall took a moment. She allowed herself a sigh of relief that Voldemort hadn't possessed such knowledge.

* * *

Harry shook his head, sighing as he scanned the shelves of the Restricted Section for what felt like the hundredth time. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that he found nothing. After all, if what Hermione told him of Sanguimancy was true, then anyone aware it was real—anyone aware that such a dangerous, forbidden art was practiced at Hogwarts—would have most likely destroyed such texts in an effort to protect the school.

Frowning darkly, he thought back over all that she had said about blood magic. _There's no mention of Sanguimancy being taught, anywhere, ever. It's a _myth._ Something that pure-bloods told their children someone would use on them if they misbehaved._

He tapped a finger against his lips as he thought. Perhaps he was approaching this wrong. If that sort of magic was treated as a myth, then maybe the section on myths and fairy tales—right out in the open of the library's main room—was where he should look.

Nodding to himself, he turned and crept back out of the Restricted Section. Winding through the bookcases of the main room, he came upon the shelves housing the books on myths of the Wizarding world.

And found Draco Malfoy already there.

Green eyes narrowing behind his glasses—he wasn't quite clear on what the bloody hell Malfoy had been doing at Hermione's bedside in the hospital wing last night, but there was an uncomfortable twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach as he recalled seeing the pale-haired Slytherin hovering over her—he squared his jaw and headed to the shelf.

But then he'd not really come face-to-face with the other young man since the Battle of Hogwarts, when he'd saved the pale-haired wizard's life. What if Hermione was right and he'd actually changed? Harry doubted that, he wanted to believe Draco was still the vile, loathsome coward they'd known since first year.

"Mummy send you on a research mission?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of Potter's voice behind him. "No, actually, coming here occurred to me all on my own."

Shaking his head at his luck—at least Potter knew why they were both there—he slid one book from the shelves and held it out to the Gryffindor wizard. "Well, make yourself useful, then."

Harry would've protested, but he saw the small stack Malfoy had already compiled. After Hermione passing along Narcissa's words last night, Harry was aware that whatever was in that corridor was a potential danger to her.

Which naturally meant there was no keeping her away from the place.

If studying alongside Malfoy was the price he paid for learning a bit more about all this—if it gave him some edge that might safeguard Hermione—then he supposed there were worse fates.

But if Harry was there for Hermione's sake, then . . . .

Harry paused as he and Malfoy came to a table and set down their books. "Why're you here, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting. "Same as you. Trying to find out more about this blood magic nonsense."

Mouth puckering as he rolled that over in his head, Harry nodded. Perhaps he was only here to help his mum. Yet that scene from the hospital wing played through his mind again. "So . . . nothing to do with Hermione, then?"

Draco didn't flinch, didn't even glance up, as he opened one of the books in front of him. "As long as I'm actually trying to help, why should it matter to you what my motive is?"

Harry scowled, taking a seat and opening a volume, as well. "That's not actually an answer, you know," he said in a low hiss as he turned the first few pages.

"I know."

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Harry jumped at the sound of Hermione's voice—shrill, and sounding startlingly like Molly Weasley's—when he stepped into the common room. Honestly, he didn't think anyone would be awake just now. The corridors and stairwells all the way there had been unsettling for their silent emptiness.

Possibly because, all the way there, he'd felt like someone was behind him, just two paces back. Matching his steps, halting when he halted, and yet, whenever he looked, he was exactly as alone as he'd been the time before that, and the time before that.

He wasn't about to share that with Hermione, she'd only make a fuss. He didn't have the energy for a Hermione Granger-level fuss, just now.

Blinking bleary eyes, he stretched as he walked to the sofa, aware of her irritated gaze on him the entire time. "I was in the library, actually."

Hermione cracked a grin, as though waiting for the punchline of a joke. "What, you? Why?"

"Trying to find anything on this blood magic stuff. Lost track of time, Madam Pince had to kick out Malfoy and me."

Her brows drew together over eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You and _Malfoy_?"

"Yes, seems your new best friend and I were there for the same reason, so we decided to stop being gits and just comb through whatever books might've had something."

"Funny." She shook her head, but didn't bother defending against, or contradicting Harry's words, as she had no idea if she and Draco even _were_ friends, or not. Was that what one considered a former enemy they'd kissed—but only just barely—twice, and who now seemed to make a habit of worrying about them?

All she knew really was that thinking about it—thinking about Draco at all these last few days—caused a flare of warmth in her cheeks and sent giddy butterflies winging around in her stomach.

"I thought I told you the stories of blood magic's use were myth," she said quickly, sidetracking her own thoughts before a blush could creep into her face.

Harry shrugged. "And that's where we looked."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Hermione whispered, berating herself.

"Well, you've had an odd few days." Harry reminded with a chuckle.

"Did you find anything?"

He nodded, glancing away, fixing his gaze on the fire in the hearth. "Yeah, but you sort of have to know it's there to see it. They made reference to the transfusions. Called it the . . . ." He swallowed hard, nodding again as he forced himself to say it, "Sanguinem Somnis."

Hermione blinked rapidly a few times. "Sanguinem . . . blood sleep?"

"From what we were able to figure out—after stripping away all the fluffy nonsense, of course—they would use magic to put the witch into a coma, and then . . . ."

"And then purge her of her _dirty_ blood, replacing it with _pure_ blood, right?"

Once more, Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, there's no delicate way to put that. From there, she either awoke from the blood sleep and was then worthy of her prospective groom, or—"

"Or she died." She forced a gulp down her throat, her gaze tracing her best friend's profile as he continued to stare into the flames. "And her prospective groom just found some other poor girl to mutilate."

Harry sighed, dragging his eyes back to hers. "Hermione, that's not what I meant."

"I know, Harry, I'm sorry. It's just . . . I'm okay with not being a pure-blood, I always have been. I always thought that it didn't really matter as long as I was good at being a witch."

A sudden smile gracing his lips, he took her hand in his. "And you are! Hermione, you're the best at being a witch there's ever been!"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Well, thanks very much, I know that."

"Oh!"

She couldn't help a laugh at his feigned indignation. "I'm not saying that. What I'm saying is . . . after all this time of being made to feel like I'm not good enough in an age where my blood status shouldn't matter, it's jarring. Very, very jarring to learn that in such a dark time, my worth would have counted for more among the pure-bloods than it does now. That I might have been one of those girls forced to endure Sanguinem Somnis_. _Disturbing really, to think blood status wasn't that important—not if they honestly thought they could change it—but you could lose your life over it."

Her voice had taken on a somber note, indeed. Not that he could blame her, after all this was a very dark and depressing subject. Harry decided he had to lighten the mood.

"You would have probably had loads of pure-blood wizards wanting to marry you." He shrugged, pursing his lips as he shook his head. "I mean, that is if they could get past everything else. The hair, for starters—"

Hermione uttered a sound of shocked disapproval, cutting him off. She snatched up a throw pillow and swatted him with it.

He chuckled, latching his hands around the pillow. Tugging it this way and that—dragging poor, giggling Hermione all over the sofa in the process—he finally wrested the pillow from her grasp.

She wasn't quite certain how, but by the time they were done fighting over a bit of room decoration she found herself in Harry's lap. Actually . . . straddling Harry's lap. How the bloody hell had_that_ happened?

Biting her lip, she met his gaze. He wasn't very much taller than her, which put Harry's face startlingly near. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth.

He dipped his head, bringing his lips closer to hers. When she didn't protest, only shuddering against him, he circled her with his arms. One hand slid up into her hair, cupping the back of her head, the other wound around her hips, holding her to him.

Harry's tongue thrust between her lips. She sighed, her arms winding around his neck as she kissed him back. She nipped and suckled at his tongue, retreating every now and then to nibble on his bottom lip.

He groaned, the hand in her hair tightening into a fist as the one at her hips began exploring. His fingers traced up the back of her thigh, sneaking beneath the hem of her skirt to trace the line of her knickers.

She felt his fingertips trailing along her skin, teasing at the elastic edge. For the briefest moment, she wondered—as she caught his tongue between her upper teeth and her own tongue to suck gently at it—what it might be like if he brought his hand forward. If he slipped it between their bodies, his fingers dipping inside the undergarment to touch her.

The thought made her aware of how warm she suddenly was . . . warm, and maybe, just a little damp. She broke this kiss, catching Harry's face between her hands as their breathing steadied.

Hermione could feel the flair of warmth in her cheeks, knew there was a haze in her eyes, as she spoke in a breathless whisper, "I think . . . I think we should stop here."

Harry smirked, his gaze on her lips. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry, I just . . . ." Why the bloody hell was she apologizing? She shook her head, powering on. "This is a bit much for me, even if it's _uncomplicated_. So . . . slowly. Okay?"

Smiling, Harry nodded in reply. He opened his arms, letting her slip away from him.

"G'night, Harry."

"So, that means more next time, yeah?" Harry's lazy but cheerful voice rang out as she was about to step into the stairwell.

She sank her teeth into her lip as she decided how to respond. "Not exactly. Just means there _might_ be a next time."

Harry chuckled to himself as he let his head fall back against the sofa. "Cruel woman."

* * *

Hermione started awake. Blinking against the darkness, she waited for her eyes to adjust before she sat up and looked around.

She was grateful for the dark, certain she'd been dreaming about a certain pale-haired Slytherin wizard. That certainty brought a blush to her cheeks and made her bite her bottom lip, as she was _positive _she clearly recalled that she'd been looking into grey eyes filled with a delicious, drowsy haze.

The kind of haze that was brought on by the explorations of stroking fingers, and the brush of eager lips.

Forcing a breath, Hermione shook her head. As pleasant as trying to recall what she'd been dreaming was proving, she shifted her focus to the reason she was no longer _in_ said dream.

She could swear a sound had awakened her, but as she cast a glance about the room, there was nothing amiss. No source for any noise which would have roused her. Fay and Parvati snoozed deeply, but Romilda . . . Romilda's bed was empty. Perhaps she'd gone to the toilet.

As she shifted back against her pillows, she felt it again. Not a sound, really. This was strange . . . softer. Like the impression of hearing something, when nothing was there. Muggles called that matrixing, she remembered—seeing or hearing something that wasn't really there because the brain was designed to make patterns and sense of incongruous things.

But this _was_ Hogwarts. If that not-quite-a-sound turned out as something later on, she'd never forgive herself for ignoring it.

While she climbed out of bed, she mused over how strange it was that she, who was so very dependent upon books and hard fact, was going with her gut about something. However, with all the times she understood what Harry was planning before he breathed a word, it might be foolish to ignore that feeling now.

Frowning at the creaking of the floor beneath her feet, she knelt down at Fay's bedside. She grasped the other girl's shoulder gently. "Fay."

Blue eyes snapped open. After a moment, Fay's lids moved in rapid, fluttering blinks as Hermione's face swam into focus. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"Romilda's not in her bed." Hermione rushed on before the look of muddled confusion in Fay's expression could form into a question. "And I've . . . got a bad feeling."

Fay's eyes widened, showing white all around. She pulled herself to sit up, once more blinking rapidly. "_You_ have a bad feeling?" She nodded and kicked aside her covers. "All right, let's go."

They retrieved their wands, yet as they crept toward the door Fay grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Wait," she said in a whisper, "why didn't you wake Parvati, too?"

Hermione turned just enough to look at the other young woman over her shoulder. Fay had the comfort and ease of knowing her best friend hadn't returned to Hogwarts simply because she hadn't wanted to, Parvati, on the other hand . . . . "She's having a rough time of it—starting a year without Lavender. I thought we should let her sleep."

Fay's expression softened, immediately apologetic. "Damn, right. Sorry."

The girls made their way down the staircase and the strange impression came again. Fay forced a gulp, nodding as she and Hermione entered the common room. "Okay, now I feel it, too."

Brow furrowing, Hermione turned to meet the other witch's gaze. "I think that time I actually heard—"

A muffled whimper came from the tower entrance.

They rushed to the portrait, carefully pushing it open so as not to disturb anything that might be leaning against it. Through the opening, they could hear that the whimpering was actually someone sobbing. Hermione wedged her head and shoulders out, looking about. "Oh, dear God. Fay, c'mon!"

She slipped through, dropping to her knees before a disheveled and weeping Romilda Vane. Fay was beside them in a heartbeat, sweeping the cuff of her sleeve along Romilda's ashen cheeks.

"Let's get her inside," Hermione said, her voice soft, even in the near-silent stairwell.

Fay nodded, pushing the portrait open wider as Hermione tugged Romilda's arm around her shoulders. They led her into the common room and settled her on the sofa. Hermione settled on her heels on the floor in front of Romilda as Fay hurried off to get a blanket.

"Do you think we should get Head Matron?" Fay asked as she returned and settled the thick swath of wool around Romilda's trembling shoulders.

"We will as soon as we know what happened," Hermione responded, whispering still, as she placed delicate palms on Romilda's knees. "Romilda? Romilda, look at me."

Large, jet eyes fixed on Hermione's.

Hermione drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She lifted a hand, pushing some of the other girl's long, dark curls behind her ear. "Okay, whatever happened you're safe now, okay?"

Romilda nodded.

"Did someone hurt you?"

She swallowed hard, but after a moment, Romilda shook her head.

Hermione and Fay exchanged a glance, each breathing a sigh of relief.

"So what happened?" Fay prodded gently as she rounded the sofa to sit beside the visibly shaken young woman.

"I don't . . . I'm not sure." Romilda's voice was small, and so very un-Romilda-like as it tumbled from her lips. "I was going to the toilet when I heard something. Or . . . I thought . . . I thought I heard something. So I went to look. I just followed the sound."

Hermione felt a sick dread twisting in the pit of her stomach. "What was the sound?"

Romilda shrugged, tears gathering in her eyes anew. "Like someone was crying. I th—I thought maybe someone was hurt, or maybe some first year was exploring after hours and got lost."

"Followed the sound to where?" Fay asked, her voice tiny, to match Romilda's.

"I don't know, I don't remember. I was just . . . just walking."

Fay met Hermione's gaze again. "Memory charm?"

Hermione shook her head. "Shock, more likely. It's okay, Romilda, keep going. Tell us what happened. Was there a woman in white?"

Romilda's large eyes grew wider, still. "Yes! She—she said she was lost. I was confused, thought maybe she was a new . . . a new staff member. She asked me to guide her across a corridor. And I said okay, but there was something so weird. It's like she was glowing. And I thought," Romilda paused, making a strange sobbing-hiccup sound, and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "I thought I must be dreaming. I kept looking back at her, she was wearing a hood. We got—we got to the end of the corridor and she passed just—" She made another strangled sound, gasping for air.

Hermione could only watch the other girl's face in horror as she waited for Romilda to collect herself enough to continue. From the corner of her eye, she could see Fay chewing furiously at her nails, her expression terrified.

When it seemed like she couldn't go on, Hermione touched her fingertips lightly against Romilda's cheek. "It's okay if you don't want to say anymore."

Romilda frowned darkly, shaking her head. "I have to. I feel like—like I'll go mad if I don't say it."

Nodding, Hermione felt quite sure she didn't want Romilda to finish, anymore.

"Like—like I said . . . ." She sniffled, and hurried on, her voice stronger than before, but only a little. "We got to the end of the corridor, and she passed just close enough that I could see under her hood. I just ran, I remember that. I ran all the way back and just collapsed at the fat lady. Felt like I'd been running forever."

Fay's blue eyes were so wide, Hermione thought they might actually fall out of her head. For her part, Hermione really, _really_ didn't want to ask, but she knew she had to. "What was under the hood?"

Once more Romilda shook her head. She grasped Hermione's hand tight in her own as her voice dropped back to the small, broken whisper it had been a few minutes ago. "There was . . . . Hermione, she—she didn't have a face."

Hermione's skin iced over as her imagination fit that picture into the bizarre moments she'd experienced . . . . A faceless creature in glowing white trailing its fingers through her hair on the way to Professor McGonagall's office. A faceless thing she couldn't see standing on the lower floor of the stairwell as she'd returned to Gryffindor tower later that same night.

When she'd _had_ to look, when she'd _had_ to assure herself she was alone, because she'd so very much felt as though she wasn't.


End file.
